


Foxhole

by hannahrhen



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky being a little shit, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Friendship, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Sexual Tension, There Are No Straights in Foxholes, mild jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-07 00:40:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6777718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahrhen/pseuds/hannahrhen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky's made up his mind. Steve's accepted it. This is the night before.</p><p>(An interlude before the first credits scene in Captain America: Civil War.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foxhole

**Author's Note:**

> Civil War spoilers, y'all.

When they’d first been shown their suite in the complex, Bucky’d let out a low whistle, an awkward joke he’d acknowledged by glancing sideways at Steve with a half-hearted grin. Shrugged and added, “They think we’re Rockefellers or somethin’?” while one of T’Challa’s aides brought in their duffels.

“Something like that,” Steve had teased back. They were shown the main room, both bedrooms, three baths--Bucky had then gone on about three bathrooms for two people, made some off-color comments under his breath about Steve and toilets until Steve punched him in his arm. (Bucky had groaned theatrically and gestured at his bandaged stump with a mock-horrified expression, which had made Steve feel guilty for about a minute until he figured out the only correct response was to threaten to punch Bucky again.)

So, yeah, the suite was more than big enough for two people, and it was gonna be downright cavernous when it was down to one. He’d bullied Buck into the bigger bedroom early on, and was glad for it, and now he wondered if it would be offensive--or just odd--if he asked to be moved to smaller quarters after Bucky--

Bucky had announced it like an afterthought--like they’d already discussed it and worked out the logistics. Turns out he had, but with T’Challa and a team of his most trusted doctors, scientists, and engineers. Not actually Steve. So it was gonna be back into the ice for Bucky until they were able to pick apart his brain scans and the signals used to trigger the Soldier. Until they’d be able to destroy that vulnerability and put Bucky back in command of his own mind.

When Steve had tried real hard not to take it out on T’Challa, after, he’d been pointedly told it was “Sergeant Barnes’ own idea, Captain,” and that ... was great.

_Great._

That had been four days ago, four days of planning strategy, near-constant medical exams for Bucky, and too-brief, quiet moments over beer and inscrutable TV, not talking about the tank being built in the lab one building over in the same complex. Not talking about anything during down-time but the random shared (and always harmless) memory. Friends. ("No, not that Mike--Mikey with the red hair and the hot mother--") Girls. ("Oh, God, yes, those legs--but that voice--") An inventory of places long gone and even a few still around. ("Aww, what I wouldn't give to see that right now." "Me, too, Buck.")

Now, though, it was Bucky’s last night of freedom before going back under, and Steve was just standing there like an idiot, watching Bucky on the sofa while Bucky swiped at the screen of a small tablet held gingerly in his hand. He looked down at the towel clutched in his own fingers, damp from his evening shower. Steve felt ... felt like he should do something instead of just brushing his teeth and hitting the hay. Felt like he should--

Bucky said, “So, uh--I guess you don’t do that anymore, huh?”

Steve’s head jerked up. He looked at Bucky quick, before he could stop himself from reacting, but there wasn’t really anything on Bucky’s face to--

“Do--uhh--” But, no, that wasn’t true. Bucky’s face was an open book. Cool, yeah, as if he already knew Steve’s answer and was just preparing himself to hear it, but there wasn't a doubt in Steve's mind what he was talking about. The tablet was off to the side now, Steve noticed, shut down, and how long had Steve been standing there in his t-shirt and sweatpants and staring at nothing. But in case ... _just_ in case it wasn’t what Bucky meant, well ... Steve wasn’t gonna make it that easy, not when Bucky had decided all on his own that this was the last night they were gonna have. He cleared his throat. “Do what?” he asked, and butter wouldn't've melted.

Bucky jerked his head to the side with a little snort. Took a moment before he looked back at Steve, his eyes smiling but something else, too. Was silent long enough that Steve had to force himself not to shift on his feet. But he, finally, said, “Nevermind,” with a shrug of his good shoulder. “I must be misremembering a few things.” Twisted his hand in the air, just above the cushions, a little corkscrew gesture. “Maybe something got jumbled up in there, about how things used to be.”

Goddamn. And suddenly Steve was--oh, God, Steve wanted to retreat to the bathroom for a minute to think or ... or just ... fucking _strategize_. Didn’t know how to cross that floor. Even whether to. _Used_ to know, for such a little window of time between Azzano and the train, when they treated every free night like it was gonna be their last. Gettin’ under the sheets in too-small beds, Bucky learning Steve’s new body and how it worked, what it could do, and Steve closing his eyes in the dark and letting Bucky’s soft voice take him home, home, _home_.

Until the one night that finally was the last.

A little window of time, and so damned long ago--Steve could feel every year. He’d honestly wondered if Bucky had just-- If it just hadn’t been worth--

But Bucky was moving now, standing and suddenly all the way over by the little fridge next to the bar, because this place also had three refrigerators. Whatever was in there must’ve suddenly been real interesting, because his voice was almost--almost--absent as he said over his shoulder, “Go on, go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning, all right.”

And Steve still stood there, stupid, because of course Bucky remembered. Remembered that. This. And, while it felt like it, and while it worried under his skin like a burr under a saddle, this night wasn’t a last. Bucky had patted his shoulder and reminded Steve, when he’d told him his decision: “I ain't goin' nowhere, Steve. You can come visit me, like a statue in a museum,” he’d said. “Sketch me, like you used to do those paintings at the Met.” His voice had dropped, cut off from the bystanders. “Tell me your secrets, even, if you want”--and Steve didn’t have many, but this ... those memories were the ones Bucky’s low tone triggered.

Yeah, so, Steve knew he was going to keep the suite. Hold it for Bucky.

And he was on Bucky then, pushing the fridge door shut and stepping into Bucky’s space, gripping his arm and his shoulder and then his jaw, making him straighten up and look at Steve, really look, and there was the smug son of a bitch Steve knew, smirking at him, eyes bright, and saying, “Yeah, see, Steve--I told you I remembered.” Leaned a little closer, into the weight of Steve’s palm. “And I figured you did, too, even when you’re busy kissin’ all the pretty girls.”

And wasn’t that fuckin’ rich, coming from Bucky Barnes. Steve huffed, hiding amusement under barely attempted annoyance, and moved a hand to the back of Bucky's neck, where he got a good, firm hold.

The next morning, Bucky had an appointment with the deep-freeze. Steve didn’t like it, but he’d respect Bucky’s decision. Not like he'd been left with much of a choice. When Bucky warmed back up, though, when he came back to life for the final time, came back to Steve for the final time, they were gonna have a _conversation_ about Sharon and--oh, yeah-- _incidentally_ all those girls Steve’d been forced to watch Bucky make time with. They would have time to figure a few things out. Work a few things out.

For now, though--and, yeah, Bucky’s mouth tasted the same, and his teeth caught Steve’s lip just the same, got him riled up just the same, and he could yank Steve into him just as rough with one arm--

For now, they were gonna take this to bed and make another goddamned memory.

**Author's Note:**

> [Find me on tumblr](http://hannahrhen.tumblr.com), and [please reblog](http://hannahrhen.tumblr.com/post/144012396773/new-fic-foxhole-stevebucky-post-civil-war) if you liked it!


End file.
